Finding Rebecca: A Novel of Love and the Holocaust (15 page)

Try not to worry. I am sure this war will be over soon enough and we will
all be together again, in a better world for our children to grow up in.

Uli

Christopher looked at his father
after reading it, as if somehow he might have the answer to all this. But there
was none. Alexandra began to cry. Stefan looked stunned, absolutely helpless,
and he waivered slightly as he stood up. He moved the letter from one hand to
the other until Alexandra asked him for it. Christopher moved towards him, put
his arm around his shoulder and his father looked at him and then down at the
ground.

“What do we do now, Father?”
Alexandra sobbed.

“We do nothing, we stay here. We’ve
nowhere to go, no place to be but here.” He placed his hand on her head. “We
haven’t changed, Uli hasn’t changed either.” He looked across at his son.
“Christopher, you have Rebecca to think of now. The risk of the Nazis arriving
here is too great. You need to leave.” Christopher didn’t reply, just stared
down at his fingers and listened to the sound as he tapped them on the wooden
table.

The line at the ticket booth for the
ferry was out the door as Christopher arrived with Rebecca. Christopher
couldn’t stand the thought of leaving this place, this in between place that
was so perfect for him and his family, who were neither German nor English,
neither one side nor the other in this new war. But Rebecca’s touch as she held
his hand reassured him that this was the right thing to do. Staying here would
be too dangerous. It was okay if it was for her. She herself didn’t want to
leave either but said she would do whatever it took to be with him and that had
been the right answer in his mind. They had been standing in line for about ten
minutes, deflecting questions from Mrs. Mesrine about their living arrangements
when Arthur Cooper, the ticket seller got out of his booth. He walked down the
line to them and motioned Christopher to come to him. Christopher knew him from
the pub, but Arthur was a bad drinker, and Christopher had learned to avoid
him. Christopher felt the shock of nerves inside him as Arthur took him aside,
away from anywhere their conversation might have been heard. Arthur grimaced as
he began to speak and then stopped to rub his hand through thinning hair.

“I presume you’re here to get off the
island, to England?”

“Yes, of course,” Christopher
replied, trying to figure out what he was about to say from the pained look in
his eyes. “Is there something the matter?” Christopher asked as Arthur hesitated.

“Well, yes, there is. I’m sorry to
tell you that since the war was declared, His Majesty’s government has barred
all German citizens from either entering or leaving the country or its
protectorates.” His moustache twitched above his mouth and Christopher felt his
heart drop, though he didn’t show it. “So I’m afraid I can’t let you leave.
Even if I did, they’d never let you into the country.”

Christopher looked at him for a few
seconds, running through what he could say or do, but there was nothing.
“You’re sure about this?”

“I’ve been dreading the day you or
your family came in here. There’s no one else this applies to on the whole
island.” He looked genuinely sorry and Christopher reached to shake his hand.
“I’m sorry.” Arthur said.

“It’s not your fault, there’s really
nothing to be done.” Christopher looked at him, and then his eyes slid away,
back towards Rebecca, still waiting in line. She smiled at him. “We’d best be
going then. Thanks for taking me aside like this.” They left. They were
trapped. There was nowhere for them to go, nowhere for Christopher and his
family to be except this in between place. The war had seen to that, and, for
the first time since he and Rebecca had come together, Christopher felt as
though he was losing control.

There was talk of war everywhere, and
all over the island young men upped and left for the mainland to join up for
their chance to have at the Hun. Tommy Smith went, and Patrick St John, Michael
and George Shockley. The newspapers spoke of the
phony war
as if eager to pit each nation against one another like
children in the schoolyard. The war seemed far away, like a storm out at sea that
the fishermen would talk about while the sun still shone down on land.

Peter Cassin’s ship was sunk off the
Norwegian coast in April 1940 and the war was real. The knock came at six
o’clock on a Monday. Christopher answered the door to Rebecca’s mother.

“Hello, Mrs Cassin.”

“Hello Christopher, how are you?” Her
smile was watery, fake. She was wearing a black suit, perfectly pressed and
seemed sober.

“I expect you want to see Rebecca?”

“Is she here?” As Rebecca appeared
around the door, a burst of joy seemed to come across Mrs. Cassin, and then she
began to cry. She threw her arms around Rebecca, who hugged her but still cast
a suspicious eye towards Christopher over her mother’s shoulder. “Oh, my
darling, you look so beautiful.”

“Thank you Mother, how are you? Is Father
treating you well?”

“It’s Peter, oh my son! My son!” She
was wailing now and raised a handkerchief to her eyes. Christopher moved to ask
her in, but Rebecca jumped in.

“What is it, Mother? Is Peter all
right? Has something happened?”

“The boat was sunk, Peter drowned. It
was sunk, torpedoed by the Germans. He’s gone.” The tears were drenching her
cheeks now and Rebecca broke down immediately. “Oh my darling you’re all I have
left.” Rebecca stood still, hugging her mother, convulsions of grief jerking
her body every few seconds, before she finally drew away.

Christopher stood breathless, waiting
to hear what Rebecca would say to the woman who had enabled her own son to be
driven away and now professed to be heartbroken over his death. Christopher had
his arms around Rebecca as she spoke. “Oh, Mother, I know you loved him too. I
know you did.” Her tears still flowed and distorted her voice, but the power
behind it was not diminished. “I need you to leave now, however. I would like
to be alone with Christopher.”

 
As he held Rebecca in his arms Christopher thought of Peter,
how he had never found any real happiness. He was dead and his funeral was to
be three days after, an empty box to be buried as his body was lost in the
depths of the cold Norwegian Sea.

The funeral was on a sunny Tuesday
morning at the end of April 1940. The Cassins were there, suitably dressed in
black to mourn the death of a son who hated them. Christopher stood with
Rebecca beside him, Stefan, Tom and Alexandra just behind. They ignored the
glares from the other side. Christopher listened to the ceremony and thought of
Uli, who was now a Captain in the 3
^rd
Panzer Division, and wondered
if his funeral would be next. Rebecca cried for the entire funeral, the only
person who cried at all.

Christopher brushed past Pierre
Cassin after the burial, not returning his looks. Christopher’s father wanted
to leave. So they trudged back to the car along the rough rubble path of the
graveyard, only stopping to look at Christopher and Alexandra’s mother’s grave
quickly before they left.
 
Christopher noticed the fresh flowers, perhaps two or three days old.

Two weeks later the German forces
began their advance into Belgium, France, Luxembourg and the Netherlands, which
soon all capitulated, and the British Army was pushed back towards Dunkirk. The
atmosphere on the island changed as rumor began to spread that the British
forces stationed on Jersey were to be withdrawn. Christopher’s father, who had
been hoarding canned foods for several months, began to buy as much petrol as
he could carry but most people on the island had the same idea and it became
harder to come by as the days went on. The local fishermen helped out with the
massive evacuation of British troops to England from the beaches at Dunkirk.
Tom began to talk about joining the army himself. His twin brother Percy had
left several weeks before, along with Harry Locke, to enlist with thousands of
others. The only thing that held him back was his wife and the thought of her
not being able to flee to England like so many were now planning to do.
Christopher waited, read and re-read the last letter from Uli, looked at the
picture of his newborn son, Stefan. Uli was in the advance, which seemed just days
away from defeating France and perhaps pushing onwards towards the Channel
Islands and England itself. There was fear everywhere. Everyone was scared,
some hid it, but there was no getting past it.

Christopher worried about Rebecca
more than himself. He knew that the Germans wouldn’t be too harsh on him, but
the reports filtering across from Europe about the Nazi’s treatment of the Jews
were too frightening even to imagine. There was talk of Jews being uprooted
from their homes and being stripped of all their possessions, and even of their
citizenship. He remembered the headlines in the newspapers he had seen in
Berlin in 1938. They were coming.

June came and Paris fell. Two weeks
later, Winston Churchill, the new Prime Minister, announced that the Channel
Islands were of no strategic importance and that the garrison stationed there
was to be withdrawn to the mainland. The Channel Islands were to be declared an
open town, and to be left for the Germans. But on the newsreel that night there
were no reports of such an occurrence. Christopher was driving home when he saw
the green uniforms of the troops. They were being loaded into trucks.
Christopher asked the policeman directing traffic and was told that they were
pulling out. There was no official announcement. The news was out. The roads
were packed and it took him more than an hour to make the ten minute drive.
There was panic everywhere. People were scuttling around like ants, carrying
their possessions to God knows where. The stores were full of people and soon
the shelves were empty. Christopher went to Rebecca. Since the time they had
tried to leave they had skirted around the conversation of what would happen if
the Nazi’s were to invade Jersey, but she in particular had become very good at
avoiding the topic. Besides, they had never truly believed that it could
happen, not until now.

 
“The troops are leaving.”

“I heard,” she replied. “We’ve been
left to rot, to fend for ourselves.”

“You’ve got to leave. You can’t let
the Nazis get you. I’ve heard of what they’re doing to Jews. I can’t let that
happen to you.”

“I know,” she said, and in the dim
light it was hard to tell but her eyes seemed to glaze over. “Mr. Gold, who
owns the photo shop in town, called over earlier to tell me the news. He is
leaving. All of the Jews are. My mother is leaving, although my father is being
stubborn about it as always.”

Christopher couldn’t possibly have
cared less about Rebecca’s father, but he didn’t show it, and he showed the
same concern for him to Rebecca.

 
“What about you?” Rebecca said. “I can’t
leave you.”

“What do you mean? I’ll be fine. I’m
sure the fact that we’re German will mean we’re treated better. Don’t worry
about us.”

“No. I won’t leave you. What have I
got to go to in England?” The look on her face was almost angry at his
suggestion that she should leave him. Christopher felt a jab of anger through
him as she spoke.

“No, it’s too dangerous. You can’t do
that. I won’t let you stay.”

“You can’t tell me what to do. I’m not
going anywhere without you.“ Her voice was strong, unwavering.

“You know I can’t leave.”

“Of course I do. Anyway, what makes
England so safe? Who’s to say that Germany won’t be invading England next month
or next week? Where do I flee to then? “This is my home. Why should I leave?”

“You left before.” Christopher waved
his hands in the air as he spoke. Was he shouting now? It was hard to tell. He
walked to the window in their apartment. There were people rushing back and
forth on the streets below. There had never been anything like this before.

“I was a child then. I’m telling you,
Christopher, I’m not leaving. We’re going to be together, nothing can change
that.” Christopher stopped, and drank in the words. He felt his lip quiver and
the urge to lunge forward and scoop her into his arms was strong. He looked
around and into her eyes, which were pleading for him to agree.

“No, no way. I want to be with you
but not at that price, not at the price of your safety, your life.” He took his
arms away from her hips. “You’re going to England and that’s it. You’re leaving
before they arrive.”

He slammed the door behind him and heard her words as she
shouted after him. “You can’t tell me what to do!”
 

There were rumors everywhere, that
the British forces were coming back, that the Germans were to bypass Jersey, or
that they were to invade and deport all the inhabitants to camps on the
mainland and use the islands as a springboard to invade the south coast of
England. People spoke of leaving but few actually did. It was June 27
^th
and Rebecca was still refusing to discuss the possibility of her leaving.
Christopher had been sleeping on the couch and then had moved back to his
father’s house, and he was there, with his father, listening to the radio, when
Rebecca came in. Christopher cursed under his breath as he saw her, but she put
her arms out, telling them both to sit back down.